


Place of Worship

by SweetSorcery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom/sub, Falling In Love, Fate, First Time, HP May Madness 2016, Kissing, Legilimency, Legilimens, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love at First Sight, M/M, Male Slash, Obsession, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV First Person, Portkeys, Rimming, Romance, Slash, Soul Bond, Spain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter which universe - Harry and Tom are always fated to meet and to be deeply linked.</p><p>Written for HP May Madness 2016.<br/>Day 11 Prompts used: "You'll be back." Hands, air, candle. Kink: Blindfolding<br/>Day 12 Prompts used: "I saw him/her and I just stopped. Everything stopped." Hello, mate, agate. Kink: Anonymous Sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	Place of Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All canon referred to within belongs to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Warner Bros. Inc., and possibly others. Non-canon bits were created for non-profit, non-infringement entertainment.
> 
> Archiving: Absolutely nowhere please, and no translations either. (No exceptions!)

I saw him, and I just stopped. Everything stopped.

Hermione had been babbling on about going to the Apothecary to buy powdered agate for an arthritis potion for her father, and Ron had been sidetracked by the sight of the latest broom in Quality Quidditch Supplies' shop window - playing professional Quidditch had made him more obsessed than ever. Meanwhile, I had started to think about getting something to eat, and that's when I looked up towards the Leaky Cauldron. All the sounds of Diagon Alley instantly dimmed to a dull murmur, and my vision faded around the edges and focussed sharply dead centre.

He was sitting in front of the cafe, which had just opened beside the cauldron shop, with a book in his hands. His black hair was sleek and wavy, with a couple of curls falling over his forehead, and I could make out sharp cheekbones, long lashes and a truly sinful mouth underneath. He looked quite tall and his hands, like the rest of him, were slim and perfectly formed. One long leg was crossed over the other, moving up and down in a gentle rhythm, as if he was listening to music inside his head.

"Harry... Harry... _Harry_ , for God's sake, I'm talking to you!" 

Hermione's voice scratched at my brain like a determined hamster, but I didn't respond, because she'd been so loud that he looked up, and right at me. I flushed instantly, because if he was even a halfway decent Legilimens, he just might be reading my thoughts.

That luscious mouth turned up in a slow smile, and I cursed under my breath.

"What's the matter with you, Harry?"

I couldn't tell the colour of his eyes from where I stood, but I felt stripped to the bone by them and, while I was frantically trying to come up with a halfway decent excuse to walk over to him, he tilted his head just a little and nodded to the empty chair across the little round table, then looked at me expectantly.

"I just remembered something important I forgot. Go on without me," I muttered, and then I started walking. I probably looked as if was being pulled along by a string; it's how it felt.

"Uh... ok." Hermione stayed behind, probably confused as anything, but there was nothing I could do about that.

Grey. They were grey. And if anyone had told me that grey eyes were the most smouldering kind of eyes there were, I'm not sure I would have believed them until that day.

He didn't say anything when I reached the table, he just kept smiling that knowing smile. It was really more of a smirk, so I offered a weak, "Hello."

Chuckling, he pointed to the empty chair. "Have a seat. Would you like a coffee?"

It had probably been inevitable that his voice would melt the last of my brain cells, and I laughed quietly to myself, because I'm not sure I've ever been less in control of myself or my fate.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," he said calmly. "But maybe you should have tea instead of coffee, it'll be more relaxing."

"Merlin's balls!" I plonked myself down on the vacant chair. He wasn't just a Legilimens, he probably invented it.

He laughed - a soft, melodious laugh I wanted to bathe in. I tried to get control of my libido by telling myself sternly that he was laughing _at_ me and my probably incredibly foolish facial expression. He didn't comment on that thought, just took a sip of his coffee, looking at me over the rim of the cup.

"Tea sounds good," I said meekly.

He waved over a waiter and ordered for me - Irish Breakfast tea with lots of milk. He didn't even ask what I wanted; of course, that's exactly what I did want.

"You know, that's one of the strongest mixes there is. I'm not sure it'll relax you," he informed me.

"Are you an expert?" I asked.

"Not on tea, no," he said cryptically.

I blushed. Maybe I should have stayed in bed that morning, I had a feeling it might have been safer. "Don't comment on that," I said, forestalling him.

"I wasn't going to. I had just decided to keep out of your head and stop making you uncomfortable." He looked thoughtful.

I laughed, shaking my head. "I can't win."

"It's lucky for you we're not at war then," he said, pushing his now empty cup towards the water carafe just as mine was arriving. "It would be fun to beat you."

I sloshed a fair amount of my tea over the rim of the cup into the saucer, not to mention over my fingers. I hissed in pain, cradling my hand. That would teach me for even reaching for a cup of tea that had only just boiled.

He poured a glass of ice water and drew my hand from my grasp. "You don't want scars," he said, by way of explanation, and tipped my hand so the three burnt fingers were submerged in the cold water.

I sighed with relief. "Thanks." And then I started laughing. How had a guy I had never seen before turned me from a fairly normal, fairly intelligent, fairly sensible wizard into a clumsy, blushing dunderhead in just a few minutes? I quickly looked at him, but if he knew what I was thinking, and agreed with it, he was doing his best not to let on.

"You're welcome," he just said with a smile.

That's when I realised he hadn't let go of my hand yet. I could have quite easily kept holding my fingers in the water myself, but I wasn't going to point that out. His hand was warm and smooth. Whatever he did, it didn't involve heavy physical labour. He didn't look the type anyway, though what type he might be was impossible to tell. Maybe a potions master - except for the even skin tone of his hands. A Quidditch player? No, athletic enough, but not bulky enough, for professional Quidditch. He looked intelligent, studious, but not like a bookworm. He could easily be a model, but something told me he'd go for something more substantial, more adventurous, and probably more dangerous. There was an undercurrent of danger about him, just beneath the polite, polished surface. If anything, that made him even more ridiculously attractive. I considered asking, dying of curiosity as I was, but something told me not to. Not knowing was exciting. Not that I needed to get any more excited, and in a public place, too. I drew my robes forward and around my left side, casually draping them over my lap.

He watched with interest and obvious amusement. "Don't forget your tea. Your fingers should probably stay submerged for a few more minutes."

I nodded. I carefully reached for my cup with my left, this time sliding it along by the edge of the saucer until it was closer. He watched my every move, and my hand was shaking by the time I set the cup down again. Somehow, I didn't think I'd be finishing my tea.

As if in agreement, he lifted my fingers out of the ice water. I had very little feeling in them, and there was certainly no trace left of the burn's stinging pain. The rest of my hand - the warm part he'd been holding in his grasp, was tingling. "I think that's fine now," he said.

"I don't know. I can't feel my fingers at the moment, they've gone numb."

He looked up at me from under his long lashes when he lifted my hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over my chilled fingers. I sucked in a deep breath.

"Maybe not completely numb," I croaked.

"Good." He reached into his pocket, counted out some money, and put it down on the table. "Shall we?" And he rose - yes, he was tall, just tall enough for me to have to look up to him - tucked his book in the large pocket of his robe, and made a gesture which said, "After you. "

I stood and let him steer me away from the cafe by my right arm. I vaguely wondered where my best mates had got to, but there was no sign of Ron and Hermione. They were not in the part of Diagon Alley I could see, nor down the side lane between shops, where I suddenly found myself, and then I forgot all about them.

He'd directed me into a doorway. My back was against a stone wall, and my arms were pinned back at my sides; his slim hands were a lot more powerful than they looked. I barely had time to notice just how dark his eyes had become before he crushed his mouth down on mine. I didn't even have time to draw breath. That mouth, which looked so soft and sensuous, was taking absolute possession of mine and, God, I loved it! My bones melted away as if he had told them they were no longer needed. His grip on my arms, his slender body practically fusing with mine, and his lips, were all that was holding me upright. I tilted my head, trying to catch just a little air from the corner of my mouth, but he didn't allow it, so I parted my lips to breathe his breath instead, and his tongue slid against mine like a sword into its sheath. I groaned into his mouth, or maybe he groaned into mine. I was thrusting my hips forward, and he countered the movement, and then we did it again, and again. His taste made my head spin, and his iron grip and searching tongue filled me with pictures of being restrained and completely at his mercy.

My head was spinning even more, all of a sudden, and there was an uncomfortable lurching sensation in the pit of my stomach, and I realised he had apparated us both. Only once there was solid ground under our feet did he release my mouth, and I had never before regretted being able to breathe.

I glanced around - we were in an open walkway that looked a lot like the one back at Hogwarts, barren except for large, gothic arches separating it from an overgrown garden. "Where are we?" My voice sounded weak, breathless.

"In Spain. In the cloister of a ruined monastery."

The air was warm, but a gentle breeze stirred it; I felt it on my face and playing with my hair. There was also a sweet and spicy scent in the air of flowers and herbs. He moved close to me and removed my outer robe, leaving me in shirtsleeves; he'd already hung his own robe over the low stone wall, and mine joined it there.

I met his eyes and felt suddenly shy. My heart was pounding so loudly, I expected to hear it echo off the empty walls. He smiled, took off my glasses and whispered, with a slight motion of his right hand across my eyes, "Obscuro!"

My vision went dark, but I made no move to remove the blindfold. Now that I couldn't see, my other senses were heightened, attuning me all the more to the warm air, the unfamiliar plants, the gentle rustling of the breeze through leaves and, most of all, _his_ scent - intoxicating and yet somehow intangible.

I experimentally stretched out my arms, and he took both my hands and led me somewhere. Dry leaves crunched under my feet. I followed without question. When he pushed me back against a wall... no, a thick pillar, which had recently been warmed by sunlight, I waited, and he let go of my hands, only to draw them back behind me and tie them to the pillar. I made a sound of discomfort, and he moved around me and lifted my chin.

"This is what you wanted," he reminded me.

"Yes," I admitted. I shifted my shoulders a little and waited, and his breath caressed my lips for an interminably long moment before I felt his tongue tracing them. I moaned softly, parting them just slightly. Now and then, he dipped his tongue into my mouth, as if to taste me better, then he licked my lips again until they tingled. The next time his tongue entered my mouth, mine met it, and we kissed open-mouthed until my knees grew so weak, I could hardly keep upright, despite my bonds.

He noticed and drew back and, tracing a finger around my lips, he said, "Such a sweet mouth. I'm going to come inside it."

"Please," I half groaned, half begged, and even though he used only the slightest pressure on my shoulders, I sank down to my knees, my legs some way apart to accommodate the pillar to which I was tied. I heard the rustling of fabric, and the smooth metallic sound of a zip, and there was a soft exhale of relief before he opened my mouth with his right hand.

I parted my lips eagerly, and he began to slide his cock inside. He took his time, my tongue was able to trace around the tip before the hot shaft followed. I relaxed my throat as much as I could, knowing he might decide to thrust all the way in at any moment. But he started slowly, sliding in and out leisurely, until I grew so used to the feel and taste of him, I felt utterly addicted. Then, he started to draw all the way out, which made me close my lips around the head - now seeping salty droplets - and suck hard to keep him inside. He laughed softly, and when he next pushed in, he kept going until I was forced to either swallow or gag. I swallowed.

His groan reverberated around the stone hall and throughout my body. I felt him try to draw back again once, just a little, but he was already coming, gushing down my throat while I swallowed it all. I couldn't get enough of him, and when the flood finally stopped and he drew free of my mouth, I licked my lips in case I'd missed even a single drop.

His voice was very close, and very rough, when he spoke, and I realised he was crouching in front of me. "Can you stand?"

I nodded. I felt his arms around my waist, and he helped me up. My knees hurt from kneeling on stone, but I couldn't have cared less. And once I was upright again, he moved away, and I felt him untying my hands. I sighed with some relief, but he chuckled and said, "Oh no, not so fast. Turn around."

I turned towards the pillar, aiding my sense of direction with my palms against it. As soon as I was directly facing it, he took my hands and tied them behind the pillar again, and I was forced to press my cheek against the stone.

When he moved around behind me again and pressed himself full-length against me, he took my chin in his left hand and turned my face a little further to the side. He kissed my cheek, and the corner of my mouth, then whispered in my ear, "You're not going to come until I allow it, no matter what I do."

I was shaking with need - between his voice, my cock pressing against the pillar, and his command not to come, it would be very hard to obey. "I'll try."

"You'll do better than try." The words were ominous, but the lips pressed against the back of my neck as he reached around me for my belt buckle were soft and gentle, and I bit my lower lip when he released me from the confines of my trousers and underwear and pulled both down well past my hips. The air was getting cooler, and it vaguely occurred to me it was probably almost dark by then. It was an hour later in Spain. Not that it made any difference to me; I couldn't see a thing either way. And my skin never had a chance to grow cold. 

His hands were under my shirt as he pressed against me. While I felt the scratch of his wool trousers against my bare arse, his fingers were working my nipples into hard nubs until I whimpered, and then he left them with a sharp pinch, before his palms slid down my stomach and to my hips. He started moving me back and forth while gently grinding against my arse, and it felt as if he was already half hard again. The idea gave me such a rush that, by the time his palms moved down my belly and his fingertips met around the base of my cock, I was so hard, I had to be careful about my distance to the pillar. Luckily, he drew me back against his groin when his fingers closed around me and moved up my shaft with a strong grip.

I made an unintelligible noise, and he bit my earlobe - whether it was reward or punishment, I couldn't say. Both might well be the same with him. He stroked me a few more times while gently nudging against my buttocks, before his hands went to my hips and then retreated. I held my breath, automatically widening my stance for whatever was to come.

I heard a scraping sound, and then a sizzle, and I smelled sulphur. I thought he was probably lighting a candle or lantern, and something metallic-sounding was placed nearby - probably on the low wall which ran along the row of pillars. I smiled at the idea that a wizard so obviously powerful - he seemed to have no use for a wand, no matter what spell he performed - should choose to light a flame in such a way, but it fit this beautiful, ancient place, somehow.

I felt it when he moved nearer again. My whole body reacted to his closeness, and I shivered.

"You can hardly wait." He stated a fact, and I nodded. "How much do you need me?" he asked, in a voice that was low and husky.

"So much it hurts." I knew I sounded desperate, but I didn't care; I was desperate for him. "I need your lips, your hands, your cock... anything you'll give me."

"Hmm." There was a slight increase in pressure on my hips, and I realised he was kneeling behind me. He was parting my buttocks and sliding his thumbs down the centre, and then I felt his breath against my hole. 

"Oh God," I moaned, resting my temple against the pillar. 

He tortured me for a minute or two by simply brushing his thumbs over my opening and, just as I decided to beg for his tongue, he breached me with it, and a full body shiver made my knees buckle. Now that he had started, he thrust his tongue inside rapidly, and deeply. I knew I wouldn't be able to obey him about not coming until he allowed it, not for long, but his left hand suddenly slid through between my thighs and gripped my cock so hard, it would have been impossible to come.

I winced, and he loosened his grip marginally, but his tongue showed no mercy, and he licked and slurped and sucked until I felt as if I might die without something more substantial inside me.

"Please..." My voice sounded hollow in the empty cloister. "Please, please, fuck me!"

He stopped licking, let go of my cock, and stood, and I felt him hot and hard against me as he leaned close to whisper in my ear. "I love how you plead. I wonder if I can make you scream?"

I was sure he could make me do anything. I wasn't sure if I should admit it, but then, he probably knew anyway. He seemed to know my very soul, but I felt I knew his, too.

"Let's find out, shall we?" His voice was low and, in a moment, I felt a hot weight at the top of my buttocks and realised he was resting his cock there. I heard him whisper a spell and felt the effect immediately inside me. He spread my cheeks and let his cock slide down, angling my hips, until his tip touched my hole, and he pushed inside. Slowly, but all the way, without a moment's pause for me to adjust, and I groaned. A small part of it was pain, but I actually pushed back, even knowing he could go no further.

For a moment, he didn't move, but he rested his cheek against the back of my neck and his hands slid under my open shirt and caressed my stomach. He was breathing raggedly, and his gentle touches balanced out the dull ache inside me. I took a few deep breaths and started to relax around his cock, and he began to thrust back and forth slowly. I began to counter his thrusts, and once he reached down one hand to stroke my cock, and I felt him begin to slide into me more easily, every trace of pain vanished, leaving behind only the wonderful sense of being completely one with him.

I sighed, pushing back when he next thrust in, trying to squeeze around him so he could never draw out. It would be my idea of perfection - the thought struck me like lightning.

"Yes," he gasped out, finally appearing to lose some of his control. He kissed the back of my neck.

My heart skipped when it occurred to me that he was agreeing with my thought. I suddenly wished very much that my hands were untied.

He gasped out the spell which released me, and his left hand moved up to my chest, and he held me close to him.

My hands were half numb, but I pressed the left one against the pillar and covered his hand with my right. "Thank you..." I whispered.

"Tom," he breathed, close to my ear.

I smiled. "Harry."

"You're going to come with me, Harry." He tightened his grip on my cock, angled his hips a little differently and, with the next, powerful thrust, he did make me scream. He relaxed his grip and worked my cock rapidly, even as he started to come. When his hot seed filled me, I came so hard that it was almost painful. And, blindfolded or not, I felt we were suddenly surrounded by a bright burst of pure magic as our magical signatures mingled, and mingled with more intensity than I would have ever thought possible. His groan of pleasure turned into a gasp of pure atonishment, and he stayed firmly lodged inside me until it was all over for both of us. Even then, he did not draw back, just nuzzled my neck and kept his hand cupped around my limp cock. Only once he slipped out of my arse, and his seed trickled down my thighs, did he stand fully again, turning me around in his arms.

"Finite Obscuro," he said, in a voice that was nothing like the proud, slightly superior one I had first heard. The blindfold vanished from my eyes.

I gasped at the expression in his face and eyes, but it was hidden almost at once when he kissed me. He kissed me so long and leisurely, but with such absolute intensity, that a whole night and a whole day might have passed by the time our lips separated again.

I looked at him, feeling dazed and speechless and, if his arms hadn't still been around me, and mine around his neck, I would have slumped into a heap on the rough stones.

He brushed the hair back from my forehead and kissed the centre of it, and my eyes fluttered closed while I drew in a deep breath. His scent, which seemed so familiar now, calmed my sudden, intense reaction to this very simple kiss, and I just smiled at my own foolishness.

Tom looked at me, his hand still on the side of my head. "You'll be back," he said very softly, very quietly. "You'll come back to me."

I nodded. "How will I find you?"

"My book. It's a port key," he explained. "Just visualise this place, and you'll be here." 

When I opened my mouth to ask how he would know when I was there, he rested his index finger on my lips and said, "I'll know, Harry. I'll always know."

Yes, I thought to myself. Yes, he'd always know.

 

THE END


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